Time Out
by Kyo-chan
Summary: Roy tries to find ways to get discipline across to Edward, but sometimes even the Fullmetal Alchemist needs to be put in time out. **Roy/Ed**M/M**kink**


The walls were a boring color, Ed noted with some resentment. Funny how he'd never noticed it before, but then again, he'd never been this up close and personal with them before. He had been stewing for the last couple of minutes, and only when he'd mentally ranted himself in circles did he finally actually look ahead of him. Beige? Or was it taupe? Maybe it was that funny off-white called eggshell. Someone fancy like Mustang would probably describe it as a 'neutral' color, calming. Ed found himself mimicking Roy soundlessly, face drawn up in a sneer as he bopped his head side to side in mockery. _It's a very relaxing color, wouldn't you agree, Fullmetal?_ Well, there was nothing relaxing about standing here with the paint mere inches from his nose, and he let out his frustration in a huff, planting his hands on his hips.

"C'mon, Mustang, don't you think this—"

"Twenty eight thousand cenz in property damage," Roy's voice spoke up from his desk at Ed's back.

The fireplace crackled as if adding its own punctuation. Ed could just imagine how it reflected off of the man's glasses while he worked and the deep set frown that accompanied the put out tone. He almost forgot what he was protesting until he honed back in on the weird in between color of the walls again. He stood at the center point of the two adjoining walls, a grown man standing in the corner.

"One cracked rib of an MP officer."

"Hey, he got in the way of the pursuit of the perpetrator," Ed snapped back, barely keeping himself in check so he didn't whirl around to yell at his superior officer. "_Which_, I might add, accounts for half the property damage you happened to mention, so get off my back!"

The room fell into an eerie silence, save the spitting fire, and Ed wondered if he had won the argument or if Roy was taking too long in coming up with an appropriate comeback. Maybe the old man had finally realized Ed was right, so they could stop this stupid little charade and get on with the evening. For crying out loud, it wasn't the first time he'd caused property damage or mowed over some innocent passersby. He couldn't understand why Mustang didn't just shut up and take it out of his—

Roy's chair scraped against the floor and Ed instinctively drew his shoulders up tighter, trying to pretend he wasn't slouching (sulking) in the corner. He swallowed down the notion that he should apologize for talking to him like an asshole, but it wasn't out of the ordinary. Why should he apologize now? He listened attentively noting how Mustang's body moved, matching it to the image conjured in his mind of the man getting up, and he didn't need much imagination to accompany the sounds of his heavy footfalls drawing closer to where Ed stood. He drew in a breath and kept silent, waiting for the ridicule, the lecture, _something_. The suspense of not having anything to go on was driving him nuts.

His head turned to try and look over his shoulder. "Look, Mustang, I-"

"Face forward, soldier." Roy's voice was a sharp command, and it turned Ed's insides to liquid fire.

Ed snapped his eyes back to the juncture of the wall, and he thought the paint never looked so appealing, very soothing and… He bit his lip hard, not liking that he couldn't see the expression on Roy's face. If his partner was just teasing him or if there was something more to this.

"You're in time out, remember? You don't talk. You listen."

A whole host of responses to that fluttered through Ed's brilliant mind in a matter of seconds. Some of them were petulant and childish, and others were an outcry that Roy shouldn't treat him like the aforementioned child. Another stronger sense was to utter a "yes, Sir", but lucky for him he managed to make it out of the reaction unscathed except for a deep breath dragged in with a throat gulp. It still felt like Roy's presence at his back was burning all the air around him so he couldn't breathe properly. Smug bastard. Smug, incredible, perfect bastard.

"Get your hands on the wall. Show me you're listening."

Ed debated which wall he should choose, then covered his ass either way and settled for putting one up on either side, bracing himself against them. He stayed there in silence, two of the hardest things for Edward Elric to do: shut up and be still.

"What am I going to do with you?" The words came out in an exasperated sigh. "For years, you've been doing this, and yet you still can't quite get a hold of your temper. It always has to be a fight."

Ed pretended that the shudder that ran down his spine wasn't a flinch, but he braced himself regardless. Roy's hands fell to his shoulders, warm even through his shirt, and he knew he wasn't going to be able to hold out for long. The fire was just too close, and he was melting at the core, those soft words eating away at the resistance he wanted to put up. This man was the focus of his world now, the light of his accomplishments, the one that reined him in. He was a slave to that voice, even when he was arguing viciously against it. How the hell did one man have such power over him? _Oh yeah_, he told himself for not the first time, _I let him_. He sighed out the only protest he was in a position to give.

Roy read it well, a sign that Ed wasn't the only one invested in whatever this was between them. "You feeling like a fight was the only choice makes the statistical reports, and me by extension, look bad." He was quick to follow it up with a softer tone. "You're my prodigy, Edward. My sun. When I get the damage reports before I hear from you, I think the worst, you know."

The blond was a creature of guilt, and they both knew that. It was why the words came with easy stroking down Ed's back, a physical reassurance that the punishment and the lecture were for Ed, whose worst discipline came from some of the worst and most traumatic moments of his life. Roy was on a path to change that any way he could, and it took a lot of getting used to from Ed. Those clever hands danced over his hips, running thumbs along the waistband of his pants. With the blonde's hands up on the wall, his shirt had ridden up just enough for Roy's hands to skim bare skin while they hovered over his belt. Ed made a soft, supplicating noise, arching up into the lecture, into _Roy_.

"At least try for me," he said, a hint of an order but mostly request in his tone. Ed's belt came undone under deft fingers, and he worked the fastening next. Positive reinforcement. He had seen Ed flinch one too many times at seemingly harmless things. Ed's petulance was handled differently now, and it surprisingly worked on most occasions. Clearly, they still had some things to work out. "Are you listening to me, Edward? You can say so."

"Y-yes, Sir." The term of respect came out in a breathy sigh as Roy moved to take him in hand, and his head fell back, fingers clenching a little against the wall. Mustang wanted him to try and keep himself under control? He wasn't sure how well he'd be able to, years of habit would be difficult to break, but — oh god, the feel of Roy stroking him. The man was pressed firmly to his back now, one hand splayed over his chest and and slightly rucked up shirt, the other reaffirming who had control over the situation. Ed found himself minding less and less with every pass of those perfect fingers, roughened from ignition cloth. He could feel the uniform against the bare skin at the small of his back, and it threatened to undo him. "I…I'll try…"

"Good."

That single word of praise burned through Ed, seared the Flame Alchemist's brand on him a little more completely. He wanted to do things for this man, who had seen him at his best and worst, who still wanted him in spite of both. In spite of everything. Roy worked him until the blaze became too much to hold in, until Ed was unable to keep quiet, and he was singing in husky cries for the way Roy touched him. He lost himself in a white-hot rush that left him sagging a little, held up only because Mustang's arm was around him and he hadn't been told to move his hands from the wall. He panted softly, vision faded into a haze of not quite white, and he'd never felt more relaxed, pliant.

"Are you ready to come back from time out?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You can put your hands down now."

Ed turned when the permission was given, and he regarded Roy with a complicated, unreadable expression. Moments later, he put his arms around the man and tucked his face into his chest, breathing in his cologne and the faint scent of fire that always surrounded the man. For him, he'd be more careful, maybe only rack up ten thousand cens in damage instead of almost thirty. It was worth it for the man who'd done so much for him, who treated him with a firm yet kind hand. Though he would never admit it, he was grateful, and he wanted to belong to Mustang. Roy's arms returned the embrace, and he sighed softly.

Lesson learned.


End file.
